"Will you?" Janet repeated.
Sally muttered a smothered negative into the pillow, and stared out before her at the discoloured wall-paper.
"Sally"—Janet shut up her book, and threw the end of her cigarette with accurate precision into the tiny fireplace—"Sally—"
"What?"
"Is there anybody else? Some man up in Town—some man who comes into the office—some man in the office—is there?"
Sally turned her pillow over. "No," she replied. She kept her eyes away from Janet's, but her answer was firm and decided.
For a few moments, Miss Hallard sat upright in the bed and watched her. Her mind was keyed with intuition. She was conscious of the presence of some influence in Sally's mind—probably more conscious of it than Sally was herself. You could not have shaken her in that belief. Even a woman cannot act to a woman, and that decided "No" from Sally had only served the more to convince her. When one woman deals in subtleties with another, fine hairs and the splitting of them are merely clumsy operations to perform.
"Are you tired?" asked Janet presently—"or only pretending to be?"
"Why should I pretend? I am tired—frightfully tired."
"You want to go to sleep, then?"